For the very first time, you held my hand the other day. I moved away because I didn’t know if it was what I wanted anymore. Butterflies in my stomach, I told you, “What took you so long to realise?” You didn’t say anything. We continued walking in our own paths, not touching, not making any eye contact, not saying a word.

“I knew. All along, I knew.” You gently nudged my hands again and swiftly pulled me closer by holding me at my waist.

This time, I didn’t move away.

I felt that tingling feeling from your cold fingers. It felt nice, but it felt strange too.

You sent me back that night. We reached my door step, our fingers still interlaced. I haven’t figured if this is what we should be doing, but I stood there while you held me. I didn’t budge. I didn’t push you away. I didn’t want to. I wanted to know what I was feeling.

That night. I was confused. I’ve always wanted you to hold me, and you never did until that day. Instead of feeling excited for that kiss you might plant on my cheek, I was worried. I’m sure you felt my anxiety when I turned away as you came close.

“I had fun tonight, thank you, for being you.” You said to me, looking into my eyes, while I was finding ways to look away.

My heart ached as I took a step back. I walked through the door with a simple goodbye. That was it. All the excitement built up within me for the past one year, somehow it wasn’t there anymore. I’ve always wanted this. Or so I thought. But I guess I got tired of waiting for you to notice me. Subconsciously, I got so tired, I got over it. Over you. Finally. So now what?

That day. I wasn’t drunk. I was drinking at a friend’s wedding. But I wasn’t drunk. I was crying because I was so happy for her. She finally got married to the man of her dreams. Someone whom she told me she might possibly love for the rest of her life.

Isn’t marriage such a wonderful thing? Two people, in love, pledge a vow, and become one. To have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness or in health, to love and to cherish till death do us part.

I love weddings, I love the idea of marriage; two people coming together to commit to something, to brave through storms and whatever nots together. Always, together.

That day. I wasn’t drunk. But I texted you anyway. Maybe I was trying to use being drunk as an excuse to tell you how I felt. How I’ve always felt.

I told you that I was at a friend’s wedding, and you asked when will mine be. And so I said, “when someone proposes to me. Are you up for a challenge? Are you willing to take a chance?”

You didn’t respond.

A part of me wished that you were seriously thinking about it. But a part of me knew, you chose to brush it off, so as to not spoil our friendship. I apologize for my ‘drunk texts’. For asking you to take up the challenge you never thought about, the chance you never wanted. But, I just thought you should know, I love you anyway.

You run. Away. Or at least, try. Try to run away. When your mind says no, trust it, leave him.

Like how Taylor Swift’s song goes, “I knew you were trouble when you walked in”, if you know someone smells like a big mistake, leave.

But of course, no, you can’t. And you won’t. Because your heart says yes. So. You walk straight into the trap. His trap. His tug of war, where he makes the rules. And you? You get pulled along.

Some days, you’re happy getting pulled along. Days when he actually makes time to send you a “Good Morning Beautiful” and you never fail to fall for it. Every single time. Damn you.

And the other days, he disappears. He doesn’t text or call, he doesn’t ask how your day went, he doesn’t apologize for not contacting, he doesn’t explain where he went.

But. “Good Morning Lovely” he comes again the following day. And what do you feel? You feel loved again. You feel like he never left. You forgive him. Without him apologizing. Without him asking for it. Without any form of explanation. You forgive him.

Five minutes to 3am in the morning, I was sitting in bed, thinking about all the things I shouldn’t be thinking about.

You. You are one of those. As usual.

I dip my hands into the bowl of nachos by my bed, reached out for some salsa, and stuffed it in my mouth. I wonder if you’re awake. I go on to Facebook, and I see you online. I click on your name, and was brought to your profile. The first thing I see is a photo of you and a girl. A girl I don’t know. I clicked on her profile, and tried to figure who she could be. Then I stopped. What am I doing. Why should I care who she is. Who am I to care.

Every time someone asks, “Are you guys together?” I always give the same answer, “No we’re good friends!” Just.. good friends.

But no, that’s not what I feel.

It might be a new girl you met at class, or a new girl you spoke to on Tinder, or maybe just a random chick you picked up from Starbucks; all these never fail to somehow prick me a little. Every single time, I fight the urge of wanting to tell all those girls “Fuck off, he’s mine, bitches.” But who am I. Who am I to say that.

And so I try to stop thinking of you; I meet other people. And I’ve met amazing people. He brought me to dinner at a 5 star hotel, and he sent me home that night, not wanting to come in to my apartment, but wanting to see me again the next morning for breakfast. I wanted to say yes, but you were coming over the next day. No hesitations, I told him no. How could I ditch you for someone I just met.

That morning. You bailed out on me for a girl you met while on your morning jog. I laughed it off and told you it was okay, that you should go ahead and enjoy yourself. I think I jabbed myself in the stomach that morning for saying that, for being so hypocritical when all I wanted to do was cry and scream at you over the phone.

That morning I stayed at home, alone. Netflix and chill. Alone. Considering that nachos and salsa aren’t people.

I wish I could scream at you. I really wanted to.

But I also wish I could run to you. I wish I could hug you. I wish I had the rights, to love you.

It hasn’t been easy, and probably won’t start being easy, but maybe, just maybe, one day I’ll be able to answer differently to the people who ask. Maybe one day I’ll be able to say “We’re not just friends.. he’s mine.” Mine.

The morning sun slid through the curtains. I woke up. Make up still smudged over my face, my cheeks stained with tears. I looked out the window. The skies were grey. So was I. I close my eyes and try to fall back asleep. Careful not to wake you up with my fidget. You wake up anyway.

I try to act like I was still fast asleep. I wiggle to shift my body closer to you. But I feel you push away. I let out a cry, I was hoping you didn’t hear. I didn’t want to wake up. I didn’t want to leave this bed. This room. This house. You.

I open my eyes to see you seated at the corner of the bed. I guess this was it. I push my face into the sheets, trying to wipe away the stains on my face. I sit up. You didn’t say anything. Neither did I.

I took off the favourite shirt of yours I wore last night. My favourite. The one I always wore when I came over. The one I would never wear again. I changed back into my clothes. I walked to the closet, wondering if I should remove the clothing I left from the other times. I pulled on the door, I took out my clothes. You didn’t stop me.

I finally braced myself to look at you. You looked at me, and for the first time, it was a face I found so unfamiliar. You mumbled something under your breath. As much as I wish it was “Stay”, I knew it wasn’t. All I wanted was a hug. All I wanted was for you to hold me again. All I wanted was for you to tell me to stay. You didn’t.

The last time I saw you, was when I walked out that door. I walked out of a place once so familiar. A place I used to call home. I was screaming for you to hold me. But you didn’t. You let me leave.